Volume I Part 9 (2/2)
Early in the autumn of 1775 came the expected call. Not long had the ”s.h.i.+rt men,”[235] as they were styled, been drilling near the court-house of Culpeper County when an ”express” came from Patrick Henry.[236] This was a rider from Williamsburg, mounting swift relays as he went, sometimes over the rough, miry, and hazardous roads, but mostly by the bridle paths which then were Virginia's princ.i.p.al highways of land travel. The ”express” told of the threatening preparations of Lord Dunmore, then Royal Governor of Virginia, and bore Patrick Henry's command to march at once for the scene of action a hundred miles to the south.
Instantly the Culpeper Minute Men were on the move. ”We marched immediately,” wrote one of them, ”and in a few days were in Williamsburg.” News of their coming went before them; and when the better-settled districts were reached, the inhabitants were in terror of them, for the Culpeper Minute Men were considered as ”savage backwoodsmen” by the people of these older communities.[237] And indeed they must have looked the part, striding along armed to the teeth with the alarming weapons of the frontier,[238] clad in the rough but picturesque war costume of the backwoods, their long hair falling behind, untied and unqueued.
When they reached Williamsburg half of the minute men were discharged, because they were not needed;[239] but the other half, marching under Colonel Woodford, met and beat the enemy at Great Bridge, in the first fight of the Revolution in Virginia, the first armed conflict with British soldiers in the colonies since Bunker Hill. In this small but b.l.o.o.d.y battle, Thomas Marshall and his son took part.[240]
The country around Norfolk swarmed with Tories. Governor Dunmore had established martial law, proclaimed freedom of slaves, and summoned to the Royal standard everybody capable of bearing arms. He was busy fortifying Norfolk and mounting cannon upon the entrenchments. Hundreds of the newly emanc.i.p.ated negroes were laboring upon these fortifications. To keep back the patriots until this military work should be finished, the Governor, with a force of British regulars and all the fighting men whom he could gather, took up an almost impregnable position near Great Bridge, about twenty miles from Norfolk, ”in a small fort on an oasis surrounded by a mora.s.s, not far from the Dismal Swamp, accessible on either side by a long causeway.” Here Dunmore and the Loyalists awaited the Americans.[241]
When the latter came up they made their camp ”within gunshot of this post, in mud and mire, in a village at the southern end of the causeway.” Across this the patriot volunteers threw a breastwork. But, having no cannon, they did not attack the British position. If only Dunmore would take the offensive, the Americans felt that they would win. Legend has it that through a stratagem of Thomas Marshall, the British a.s.sault was brought on. He instructed his servant to pretend to desert and mislead the Governor as to the numbers opposing him.
Accordingly, Marshall's decoy sought the enemy's lines and told Dunmore that the insurgents numbered not more than three hundred. The Governor then ordered the British to charge and take the Virginians, ”or die in the attempt.”[242]
”Between daybreak and sunrise,” Captain Fordyce, leading his grenadiers six abreast, swept across the causeway upon the American breastworks.
Marshall himself tells us of the fight. The shots of the sentinels roused the little camp and ”the bravest ... rushed to the works,” firing at will, to meet the British onset. The gallant Fordyce ”fell dead within a few steps of the breastwork.... Every grenadier ... was killed or wounded; while the Americans did not lose a single man.” Full one hundred of the British force laid down their lives that b.l.o.o.d.y December morning, among them four of the King's officers. Small as was this affair,--which was called ”The Little Bunker Hill,”--it was more terrible than most military conflicts in loss of life in proportion to the numbers engaged.[243]
This was John Marshall's first lesson[244] in warfare upon the field of battle. Also, the incidents of Great Bridge, and what went before and came immediately after, gave the fledgling soldier his earliest knowledge of that bickering and conflict of authority that for the next four years he was to witness and experience in far more shocking and dangerous guise.[245]
Within a few months from the time he was haranguing his youthful companions in ”Major Clayton's old field” in Culpeper County, John Marshall learned, in terms of blood and death and in the still more forbidding aspects of jealousy and dissension among the patriots themselves, that freedom and independence were not to be wooed and won merely by high-pitched enthusiasm or fervid speech. The young soldier in this brief time saw a flash of the great truth that liberty can be made a reality and then possessed only by men who are strong, courageous, unselfish, and wise enough to act unitedly as well as to fight bravely.
He began to discern, though vaguely as yet, the supreme need of the organization of democracy.
After the victory at Great Bridge, Marshall, with the Culpeper Minute Men, marched to Norfolk, where he witnessed the ”American soldiers frequently amuse themselves by firing” into Dunmore's vessels in the harbor; saw the exasperated Governor imprudently retaliate by setting the town on fire; and beheld for ”several weeks” the burning of Virginia's metropolis.[246] Marshall's battalion then marched to Suffolk, and was discharged in March, 1776.[247]
With this experience of what war meant, John Marshall could have returned to the safety of Oak Hill and have spent, at that pleasant fireside, the red years that were to follow, as indeed so many in the colonies who then and after merely prated of liberty, actually did. But it was not in the Marshall nature to support a cause with lip service only. Father and son chose the sterner part; and John Marshall was now about to be schooled for four years by grim instructors in the knowledge that strong and orderly government is necessary to effective liberty. He was to learn, in a hard and bitter school, the danger of provincialism and the value of Nationality.
Not for long did he tarry at the Fauquier County home; and not an instant did the father linger there. Thomas Marshall, while still serving with his command at Great Bridge, was appointed by the Legislature major of the Third Virginia Regiment; and at once entered the Continental service;[248] on July 30, 1776, four months after the Culpeper Minute Men, their work finished, had been disbanded by the new State, his son was commissioned lieutenant in the same regiment. The fringed hunting-s.h.i.+rt and leggings, the buck-tail headgear, scalping-knife, and tomahawk of the backwoods warrior now gave place to the buff and blue uniform, the three-cornered hat,[249] the sword, and the pistol of the Continental officer; and Major Thomas Marshall and his son, Lieutenant John Marshall, marched away to the north to join Was.h.i.+ngton, and under him to fight and suffer through four black and heart-breaking years of the Revolution.
It is needful, here, to get clearly in our minds the state of the American army at this time. What particular year of the Revolution was darkest up almost to the victorious end, it is hard to say. Studying each year separately one historian will conclude that 1776 sounded the depths of gloom; another plumbs still greater despair at Valley Forge; still another will prove that the bottom was not reached until '79 or '80. And all of them appear to be right.[250]
Even as early as January, 1776, when the war was new, and enthusiasm still warm, Was.h.i.+ngton wrote to the President of Congress, certain States having paid no attention to his application for arms: ”I have, as the last expedient, sent one or two officers from each regiment into the country, with money to try if they can buy.”[251] A little later he writes: ”My situation has been such, that I have been obliged to use art to conceal it from my own officers.”[252]
Congress even placed some of Was.h.i.+ngton's little army under the direction of the Committee of Safety of New York; and Was.h.i.+ngton thus wrote to that committee: ”I should be glad to know how far it is conceived that my powers over them [the soldiers] extend, or whether I have any at all. Sure I am that they cannot be subjected to the direction of both”[253] (the committee and himself).
In September the Commander-in-Chief wrote to the President of Congress that the terms of enlistment of a large portion of the army were about to expire, and that it was direful work ”to be forming armies constantly, and to be left by troops just when they begin to deserve the name, or perhaps at a moment when an important blow is expected.”[254]
Four days later Was.h.i.+ngton again told Congress, ”beyond the possibility of doubt, ... unless some speedy and effectual measures are adopted by Congress, our cause will be lost.”[255] On December 1, 1776, the army was ”greatly reduced by the departure of the Maryland _Flying Camp_ men, and by sundry other causes.”[256] A little afterwards General Greene wrote to Governor Cooke [of Rhode Island] that ”two brigades left us at Brunswick, notwithstanding the enemy were within two hours' march and coming on.”[257]
Thirteen days before the Christmas night that Was.h.i.+ngton crossed the Delaware and struck the British at Trenton, the distressed American commander found that ”our little handful is daily decreasing by sickness and other causes.”[258] And the very day before that brilliant exploit, Was.h.i.+ngton was compelled to report that ”but very few of the men have [re]enlisted” because of ”their wishes to return home, the nonappointment of officers in some instances, the turning out of good and appointing of bad in others, and the incomplete or rather no arrangement of them, a work unhappily committed to the management of their States; nor have I the most distant prospect of retaining them ...
notwithstanding the most pressing solicitations and the obvious necessity for it.” Was.h.i.+ngton informed Reed that he was left with only ”fourteen to fifteen hundred effective men. This handful and such militia as may choose to join me will then compose our army.”[259] Such was American patriotic efficiency, as exhibited by ”State Sovereignty,”
the day before the dramatic crossing of the Delaware.
A month earlier the general of this a.s.semblage of shreds and patches had been forced to beg the various States for militia in order to get in ”a number of men, if possible, to keep up the appearance of our army.”[260]
And he writes to his brother Augustine of his grief and surprise to find ”the different States so slow and inattentive.... In ten days from this date there will not be above two thousand men, if that number, of the fixed established regiments, ... to oppose Howe's whole army.”[261]
Throughout the war, the neglect and ineffectiveness of the States, even more than the humiliating powerlessness of Congress, time and again all but lost the American cause. The State militia came and went almost at will. ”The impulse for going home was so irresistible, that it answered no purpose to oppose it. Though I would not discharge them,” testifies Was.h.i.+ngton, ”I have been obliged to acquiesce, and it affords one more melancholy proof, how delusive such dependencies [State controlled troops] are.”[262]
”The Dependence, which the Congress have placed upon the militia,” the distracted general complains to his brother, ”has already greatly injured, and I fear will totally ruin our cause. Being subject to no controul themselves, they introduce disorder among the troops, whom you have attempted to discipline, while the change in their living brings on sickness; this makes them Impatient to get home, which spreads universally, and introduces abominable desertions. In short, it is not in the power of words to describe the task I have to act.”[263]
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